Sam's Memorable Day
by lostcowgirl
Summary: Sam jots down his observations that began the night before in a crowded Long Branch when a tired Kitty Russell retired to her room for a bit of a rest until her cowboy arrived.


**Sam's Memorable Day**

I'm not someone who tends to keep a diary or even write much at all. Let's face facts. Nobody wants to read about the life of a craggy-faced, tall, past middle-aged bartender in a cow town in southwest Kansas. Still, I had to get this down because of the other people, whom I'm sure history will take note of or be affected by what happened regarding the woman I work for and the man she loves. That I may not be employed soon isn't what's important except as far as it affects my livelihood. The effect these events have on those two people and the town of Dodge City is what future generations will be interested in knowing.

First off, I reckon I should at least state my name, despite knowing if anyone reads this it won't mean anything, and how I came to be in a position to write this during the lull between opening up in the morning and the first wave of customers and then a bit more during the early afternoon lull before the nighttime crowd's in full swing. I'm hoping by then to know how things will turn out for Sam Noonan, head bartender at the Long Branch Saloon.

I came to town a bit more than two years ago with a reference, but not a glowing one. The man I'd worked for and prevented from drinking his profits away in Lawrence managed to burn down his establishment while too drunk to know what he was doing but while sober enough to manage to get out alive. He went to sponge off relatives in Kansas City and I came west with not much more than a month's wages and that letter of recommendation in my pockets. Since Miss Russell had just bought out her partner, who had been the head barkeep as well and found some quality she liked in me I was hired. Now we're more than employer/employee, we're friends. That's why what happened hit me so hard.

Maybe I was wrong to open up as if this was just another morning after what happened to Miss Kitty last night. Still, I couldn't keep the place closed even if I don't know what my future holds. It's the height of the cattle season and the Long Branch can't afford to be closed. We're doing far too much business. I hope I'm doing the right thing. I sure didn't last night. I should have protected her. I should have never let her out of my sight.

My last contact with Miss Kitty was around ten last night. The place was packed and seemed to be more crowded with each passing minute. She managed to let me know that as soon as she could she'd head up to her rooms to rest. Therefore when Marshal Dillon came by at the start of his late rounds around midnight, I nodded at him to indicate the woman he sought was upstairs. I knew from past experience he'd stop to talk with her before continuing with his rounds and any other work he had and promise to return for a nightcap just as we were closing up. At this time of year that was the wee hours of the morning.

Despite our growing friendship, my employer didn't share the depth of her relationship with the marshal until after her argument with him prior to the annual Ford County Sociable, which he had to miss because he was called to Topeka, and their subsequent reconciliation after his return. I was happy to take a punch in my attempt to defend her from the man she'd been seeing in the marshal's absence and she, after it was all over, let me know where things stood with the two of them. Even if I hadn't known about them, I'd still give my life in defense of the finest woman I know.

You don't want to know about that. You want to know what happened last night after the marshal went upstairs. It seemed like he'd only had time to knock and be invited in when he was back on the mezzanine overlooking the barroom yelling for someone to get Doc. Then he disappeared again in the direction of her rooms. I would have gone, but Quint Asper, our new blacksmith was already out the batwing doors heading for Doc Adams' office before I finished pouring a whiskey for the latest demanding cowboy, cattle buyer, gambler, local businessman or drifter. It hardly mattered which category the man fell into.

I knew something was terribly wrong when Marshal Dillon came downstairs without our town doctor, a grim determined expression on his face. His eyes surveyed the now almost empty room looking daggers at not only strangers, but also the girls who were still in the barroom and the second bartender, Fred, as well as me. I couldn't help thinking he particularly blamed me.

"Anyone see when Miss Kitty went upstairs; anyone at all? Was she alone? I want answers and I want them now!" he demanded.

"Sorry, Marshal," I said speaking first. "It was just so busy I didn't even see when she left the room, let alone if she was followed. What happened?"

"Some animal beat her nearly to death. Doc's not sure she'll make it."

All of us could see the big lawman could murder the person responsible with his own two hands just as I surmised the person who'd hurt Miss Kitty so badly had nearly done even if she was still hanging on to life. Alas, nobody in the room had any leads for him to help identify the bastard. Frustrated, he made his rounds of the other saloons and the hotels and rooming houses but to no avail. He returned in the same, if not worse, mood an hour later to climb the stairs. As far as I know he remained there until I opened up in the morning to see him slowly and dejectedly descend the stairs.

Having decided to open for business, I was taking chairs off the tables when he reached the bottom step. I don't know how they do, but men seem to sense when a saloon opens. Two men walked in. One was obviously a cowboy of average height and build, who was flush with money after the long drive up from Texas. The other, a big city gambler ready to take it from him, was almost as tall as our six-foot seven-inch peace officer and heavily muscled. Neither noticed the marshal or me as they leaned against the bar and talked, downing an early whiskey rather than the coffee already on the bar with their hardboiled eggs.

"Mister, you reckon you might be interested in a game?" the cowboy asked. "I'd like to see if I can increase my holdings and maybe get some gal to spend a bit of private time with me."

"I think a game might be arranged. Plan on it being after I track down the brunette I was with late last night. She just might be willing to provide a repeat performance and accept a bit more special attention for additional coin. I'll let you know."

The marshal nodded at me to keep an eye on the two men while he went over to a nearby table where Miss Kitty's newest hire, a girl with dark hair and eyes, about 20 years old sat sipping coffee. He grabbed a cup and joined her. She looked up at him as he sat down in the chair next to hers and noticed the bruise on her cheek. She was aware he noticed.

"Oh, Marshal Dillon. I'm sure you want to talk to me," I overheard as I brought over the pot with more coffee.

"I do."

"I was with the dude who's now standing over by the cowboy last night when you shouted for Doc. He told me the mark would be gone by morning, but I see it isn't. Still, he was willing to pay extra so I'll live with it. Somehow I think it wouldn't have been the only one if you hadn't interrupted by yelling for the Doc. That's when he stopped me from getting up to see by pulling me close and roughly finishing what he'd started. Before he left, he told me I was much more cooperative than that over the hill redheaded whore, who fought him all the way so he didn't pay her except with his fists."

I know I shouldn't have lingered as long as I did, but I was curious about what she had to tell our marshal. Knowing the redhead the girl referred to was Miss Kitty, I was ready to grab the shotgun from behind the bar, but the marshal was quicker. In three steps he was behind the gambler. Grabbing his collar he roughly turned the excuse for a man about as if he were even smaller than the cowboy next to him and backhanded him. The dude, for that's what his clothes told me, soon bounced up and swung at our lawman. Our marshal obviously wasn't thinking with his badge. He wasn't thinking at all, just reacting like any man would when the woman he loved had been savagely beaten and subjected to we worldly folk can guess what else.

I watched Matt Dillon rain blow after blow on the bastard until he was again down on the floor. This time he didn't get right up, but the fight wasn't out of him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pistol, pointing it at his angry assailant.

"Look out, Mister," the cowboy, who had a much better view, shouted. "He's got a gun!"

Mister Dillon was quicker. His upper left arm was nicked, but that bastard of a gambler was hit in the leg. Walking over to the prone man, he kicked away the derringer and then kicked the injured leg with his follow through before hauling the culprit to his feet.

"I could have killed you just now, but if she dies I want to see you hang. You can walk to jail. See yah later, Sam."

Doc must have heard the shots because he was standing on the mezzanine glaring down at the barroom. Like the marshal, he was ready to kill on behalf of his patient. Doc may be outwardly crusty, but he loves Kitty Russell as only a father can. He'd do everything he knows to do for any of his patients, but when it came to her, he'd find a way to do even more.

"What in tarnation are you doing down there? Don't you realize I have a very sick patient! She needs peace and quiet if she has any chance of getting well. Before you ask, Sam; there's no change. I still don't know, but send that overgrown marshal upstairs as soon as he gets back here from jailing the skunk responsible. He just might be able to help me work a miracle."

Marshal Dillon returned 15 minutes later, having left his assistant and jailer Chester Goode with the prisoner. In another half-hour Doc came downstairs and walked out the door toward the jail. It was time for a late dinner by the time he returned with Chester and Quint. Chester and Quint grabbed some of the free lunch that had been set out while Doc fixed a tray with sandwiches and beer for himself and the marshal. That was the last I saw of either of them until five when Doc shuffled down the stairs to make an announcement.

"She's awake, but real banged up. Thanks to the skill of her personal physician, despite all her injuries, she'll pull through. I've left that overgrown public servant upstairs to help in her recovery. There's nobody in his jail thanks to his bullet hitting her assailant's femoral artery. He bled out before I could get to him." Spying Quint and Chester entering the saloon, Doc continued, "You two can do Matt's rounds tonight and tomorrow morning. By then I'll have gotten some sleep and be able to drag him away from Kitty's side to do his job."

Doc's announcement cheered us all. It means I'd best stop writing now that the wait is over. Like Marshal Dillon, I still have a job to do.


End file.
